


theory of tangibility

by ikijai



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Developing Relationship, Domesticity, M/M, Not Phase Three Compliant, Not particularly compliant with anything tbh, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 20:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15032195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikijai/pseuds/ikijai
Summary: Bucky discovers that he likes jalapeños. It's people invading his privacy that he doesn't like.[Otherwise: Bucky's post-TWS recovery & occasional relapses told through a bunch of tiny vignettes.]





	theory of tangibility

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of 4 years late, but I did it.

It takes him a while to talk at first. There's a lot of tripping over his words and taking deep breaths.

Half a year after he'd dragged his mission’s body from the water, they quit tracking him. They’d traveled through the United States and then Bucharest, directly on his tail until he threw them off. Then he'd started tracking them instead. Him. _Steve_. He didn't know why he did it, but there'd been no turning back from the decision. Definitely not now when Steve’s taken him into his tiny little place in Brooklyn and offered just about everything under the sun.

The first time they'd been face to face since D.C. happened in a thunderstorm outside Bay Ridge. He'd made sure it would be in public. Lots of witnesses around. Just in case.

Bucky’d nearly startled Steve to death by coming up behind him under some dingy Bodega and tapping his shoulder. The man’s face twisted in perplexity for the narrowest moment in time before his eyes widened. Bucky wanted to take off in the other direction the instant Steve’s dilated pupils implored his, lips parting as if trying and failing to take it all in.

This didn't stop the man from dragging Bucky to his apartment and practically trashing the place to find a towel. Bucky’d dripped from head to toe by the door, teeth chattering, just waiting. For instruction. For the vexation to settle in. For anything. Steve kept Bucky in his peripheral vision the entire time, probably to make sure it wasn't some kind of trick.

That’d been ten days ago, and Steve is just as unwilling to let Bucky out of his sight whenever possible.

He’d been impressed, though. Steve didn’t immediately bombard him with questions. He'd given it a day or two.

 

##

 

“You tracked us?”

“You tracked me.” Bucky tries to shrug, but the motion is tight. Unfamiliar. His own voice takes him aback, jagged from disuse. “Then you stopped.”

Bucky watches Steve inhale, biting down on his lip like he's to blame for any of this. “I wanted to keep looking, trust me, I did. But they talked me out of it. They said since the, uh, incident was all over t.v. it was probably best to let it simmer down. Then other things came up.”

Steve doesn't specify who they is, but Bucky likes that the man says _things_ instead of _jobs_. It makes him think that all those months of being tracked weren't just a task he and Wilson took on.

Then there's his presence altogether. It means something that Steve didn't turn him in yet, that they're talking inches apart and Bucky doesn't once experience the urge to wrap his hands around the man’s throat.

“It kinda seemed like you didn't want to be found.”

Bucky ducks his head, doesn't look into those eyes that seem to be urgent by default.

“I didn't know what I wanted,” he utters.

There's a beat where neither of them talks. Then Steve clears his throat, getting the eye contact he's so desperate for.

“You came back. You pulled me out of the water that day in D.C. You decided those things.”

Steve’s tone is even, practiced. Bucky still detects every tense movement he makes. The twitch to his jaw. The tap to his foot.

He can take it, though. He can tell this simple truth. In some inexplicable way, he trusts the man sitting across from him at the table.

“I did.”

 

##

 

For a while, Bucky doesn't talk unless he's spoken to directly. Instead he communicates passive aggressively through nonverbal cues.

Steve doesn't take issue with it.

  
##

 

They descend into their own kind of pattern. Steve’s got two bedrooms. Bucky takes the one with the plain walls and the lock on the door.

Tuesday's, Steve takes the train to visit Peggy. Wednesday's, he debriefs up at Stark Tower.

He invites Bucky to both every time. Bucky turns it down every time.

Steve isn't particularly talented at hiding his disappointment.

 

##

 

The man who claims to have been his best friend is undeservedly kind to him despite Bucky having tried to take him out less than a year ago.

“It wasn't you,” Steve tells him, over and over. “You were ordered to do it, and even then, you didn't go through with it.”

Steve is laying a blanket down on Bucky’s designated bed, his back to him when Bucky utters, “What if I’d done it?”

“You didn't, Bucky.”

Steve’s voice is tense, tense enough that Bucky feels the impact. Then his tone is back to normal.

“I'm just down the hall if you need anything,” he says. “You don't even have to knock.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, but the other man is already through the door.

 

##

 

There are things he knows he's supposed to do. Ordinary things that people do all the time but that he did infrequently for years. Things like eating or sleeping or using the bathroom on a daily basis. It's draining to do these things.

He doesn't tell Steve, but he knows the man notices.

He's been wearing the same dirty jacket and old pair of jeans for days. It's obvious.

Steve starts leaving post-it notes around the apartment while he's out. Bucky wants to be pissed off about it, but he discovers that it's impossible to be pissed at Steve for too long.

 

##

 

There's a lot of back and forth on his part. Telling himself Steve’s intentions aren't what they seem to be. Telling himself the whole thing is destined to fail.

 

##

 

It's temporary, he tells himself. It's impossible for this thing he and Steve are doing to last. They'll discover where he is. Somebody will spot him when the hood of his jacket isn't pulled down far enough. Turn him in.

It isn't the worst of his dread.

Bucky can ignore the tightness in his chest when he's been out for more than ten seconds, but he can't ignore that Steve is in danger just by being near him.

He can't ignore the way he yells himself awake or the injured look on Steve’s face when he flinches from the man’s well intentioned touch.

It's particularly bad tonight.

“Don't. Touch. Me,” he grits through his teeth.

Steve gets the message, but he still hovers in the doorway, jittery like he needs to be doing something important.

The images in Bucky’s head hold a despicable, trifling kind of weight over him. The kind that makes him want to tear his hair out. It's Zola’s lab. It's the people he's killed, eyes wide with fear, defenseless.

Bucky has to shut his own eyes just to the stop the tears from trickling.

Then he backs up until he hits the wall, sinking down and biting his knuckles to keep the ugly noises in his throat. It's pain inducing, but it's nothing compared to the way Steve’s breaths deepen as he watches helplessly from a distance.

 

##

 

He knows Steve has trouble sleeping too. He hears the tossing and turning through the thin walls and finds it oddly difficult to stay put in his own bedroom.

Bucky nearly gives up on the idea entirely. If he's awake, he can tell himself the images in his mind are illusions. It's just easier to be an insomniac these days.

 

##

 

“You like jalapeño?”

“I dunno.”

“Thinking about getting pizza tonight. Lets try it.”

Bucky looks up long enough to see Steve digging through the kitchenette in search of the order menu. They don't talk about the things they should be talking about.

 

##

 

He doesn't know when they start watching t.v. together at ungodly hours when neither of them can sleep, but they do.

It's usually infomercials or late night talk shows, but it doesn't make a difference whether it’s interesting or not. What's on the bright screen in the dark isn't the point.

Bucky listens as Steve stifles yawns until his breathing begins to slow down. It's a welcome distraction, tranquil.

 

##

 

“I'm dangerous, Steve. I could be triggered by any little thing. It could be an old man behind a damn hotdog cart that does it,” Bucky utters.

“It hasn't been a problem yet,” Steve says. The yet gets caught in his throat.

 

##

 

Sometimes they touch when they're doing the dishes or watching t.v. It's usually brief—a brush against the torso, a nudge to the knee. It still makes Bucky’s heart thump.

 

##

 

“You should turn me in, Steve.”

“Over my dead body, Bucky.”

Bucky huffs impatiently. They do this dance every other day. “Then you're an idiot.”

Steve’s jaw tightens. “How long are you going to keep blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault?”

“Until the truth the hits you.”

“The truth where they brainwashed you or the truth where you were an involuntary participant?”

This is normally the part where Bucky turns back to the t.v. indignantly. Today, he drags himself to his bedroom and lets the door slam shut behind him.

 

##

 

Occasionally, he'll zone out until more names from his distant past come back to him. Jacques Dernier. Timothy Dugan. Others from before and during the war.

This is different. Steve is more than just a distorted name or face passing through his tainted memory. He's tangible and there and so damn real it's terrifying.

 

##

 

“They'll try to get me back,” Bucky tells him. “If they find out where I am they—”

“They'd have to go through me,” Steve interjects. The man’s one track mind is truly something.

 

##

 

Tattered semblances of the personality he thinks used to be his show in pieces.

Once he discovers that telling jokes makes Steve’s lip twitch, he decides to do it more often.

“You used to be a lot tinier.”

Bucky knows Steve tries his best not to jump when he comes up behind him unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” the man utters.

“You used to get your ass kicked a lot. I had to bail you out all the time.”

The twitch to Steve’s lip turns into a grin. “Good to know that jerk is still in there.”

The man’s positivity is infectious, because Bucky’s pretty sure he's smiling when he utters, “Yeah, well. You're still a damn punk.”

 

##

 

Going out on his own is more difficult than he thought it'd be. There are too many people, too many potential threats.

He dreads talking to anybody that isn't implicitly familiar. Because of his handlers—his torturers—it's hard to tell the difference between somebody who genuinely wants to help him and somebody who will only use him. To discern between what they told him to be true and what actually is.

He's been disillusioned and wiped and instilled with bullshit more times than he could keep track of. It takes time to undo these things.

He doesn't wander too far from the apartment, keeping a safe distance. He passes the same brick walls until it's dark and he's tired. It's okay until some kid stares a little too long his third time around the block. Then a dog barks and his metal fingers twitch.

When he gets back, he ignores the worried knit to Steve’s eyebrows, uttering, “I don't want to talk about it,” before making a beeline for the bathroom. He lets his throbbing temple lean against the edge of the toilet.

Not too long after he's done throwing up, Steve is knocking on the door, pleading for him to open it. The man’s voice is muffled through the door. “You used to take care of me all the time. Would you let me try to take care of you, too? Please?”

He only opens the door because of how desperate it sounds. ‘Least that's what he tells himself.

The weight of Steve’s palm against his back is gentle yet firm, keeping him in place.

 

##

 

The therapist is Steve’s idea.

Bucky tries not to be insulted. “What do you want me to do while I'm at it, drink tea? Do yoga?”

“I'm not kidding, Bucky. It might make things better for you. I—I went to a therapist when I first came outta the ice. It made a difference.”

There it is. Those sad puppy eyes and trembling tone that have the power to make Bucky go through with just about anything.

 

##

 

It's not as terrible as he thought it'd be.

The therapist, Katherine, ushers him inside with a warm smile. The woman has to tilt her head up to look directly into his face, but she doesn't seem intimidated when she introduces herself or even when Bucky winces after she shuts the door behind them.

He tries to keep his face blank.

“Is it okay if I call you James?”

“You're the one with the degree,” Bucky utters.

Katherine just smiles kindly. “That I am, but I like to know what my patients prefer to be called. It's more interpersonal that way.”

He decides then and there that he likes this woman. She doesn't treat him like he's less-than or invalid. The “psychologist” Zola would bring in when he was unstable treated him like a thing.

Katherine seems different. Trustworthy and far from judgemental.

“Yeah,” Bucky says after a while. “It's fine.”

“We’re off to a good start then, James. The first thing I'd like you to know is that it's okay if you don't want to talk yet. Don't feel pressured by my inquiries. You don't have to answer them if you're not prepared to.”

Bucky nods, utters a low _okay_ out loud.

Fixing a damaged brain isn't a linear process. It's jagged and takes sharp turns, moves backwards more often than it does forward. Bucky knows this. Doing it on his own is impossible. It's like trying to breathe underwater. It doesn't fucking work.

He decides that it'll be okay to talk about certain things but not others. Not yet.

Katherine jots something down in her pad, keen expression intact. “It'll take some time to get yourself back, but the important thing to remember is that you _will_. You've already made progress. You just don't know it yet.”

When the session is over and they're taking the train back to the apartment, Bucky doesn't tell Steve it went well. He doesn't need to see that I told you so expression in the 21st century, too.

 

##

 

The doctors don't diagnose him yet. They tell him he's a unique case, whatever that means.

It’s incredibly odd signing _James_ _Barnes_  on the documents. His own name doesn’t feel like it belongs to him—he doesn’t know if he deserves for it to.

##

 

During dinner, Steve tells him he's under no obligation to be there.

“You could take off any time you wanted to,” the man says.

Bucky’s heart drops into his gut. “You want me to take off?”

“No, Bucky. Definitely not,” Steve says immediately. “I just want you to know you have options.”

Bucky lets out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding in.

Steve’s words turn to a whisper then. “I’d like it more than anything if you decided to stay with me. But it's not about what I want.”

Bucky thinks he's wrong. It's about what both of them want.

 

##

 

Steve gives Bucky a key the next day like it's no big deal.

“It shouldn't have taken me this long,” is all he says about it.

 

##

 

They take a bus tour of Brooklyn on one of those unheard of days where it isn't pouring. They both wear their jackets with the zipper all the way up and hoods tucked low, either way.

It's different than it’d been in the ‘40s, but some of the buildings are so damned old that he still recognizes them.

 

##

 

“Tell Wilson I’m sorry I tore his wing off.”

It's infectious, the way Steve’s eyes wrinkle around the edges. “He doesn't hold it against you.”

Bucky’s seen some of Steve’s friends in the past couple weeks, but it's difficult to talk to them directly. Instead he tells Steve what he’d like them to know.

“He tell you that?” Bucky teases. “Or did you assume that's true?”

The downcast to Steve’s gaze indicates that it's the latter.

Bucky huffs in disbelief, jaw twitching. “What does your.. team,” he decides. It still tastes odd at the tip of his tongue. “What do they talk about when I'm not there? What do they say about me?”

“They're not the kind to talk behind peoples’ backs,” Steve insists. “Well, ‘cept Thor, but that’s—”

“You're dodging the question, Steve.”

The other man’s knuckles fidget over the table before he's worrying a bottom lip with his teeth. It's treading carefully for both of them, then.

“What did the Black Widow tell you about me?” Bucky tries.

“Told me you trained her before the KGB. Told me you were kind to her.”

Bucky snorts, because Steve is transparent. “Did she tell you I shot directly through her to kill somebody else?”

The other man ducks his head. “Yes.”

Bucky inhales. “What did Stark tell you about me?”

“Bucky, I don't think—”

“I deserve to know, Steve,” he interjects. “You told me that.”

His brain is telling him to explode like dynamite, but the knot in his throat makes it impossible.

Tony Stark is the spitting image of his dad. It only makes it more difficult to look him in the eye.

“He told me he wanted to punch you square in the jaw the first time I brought you to the tower. But then he told me he knew it wasn't you that did those terrible things.”

  
##

 

Steve makes breakfast to the tune of something Bucky doesn't recognize.

The dumb grin on the man’s face when he turns to set the plates on the table instills an undying warmth in Bucky’s chest.

 

##

 

“Why don't you tell me one thing you like and one thing you dislike?” Katherine asks during therapy.

Bucky makes a show of giving it deep thought to test if Katherine will write it down in her pad. She doesn't.

“I like jalapeños on pizza,” he shrugs. “I don't like people invading my privacy.”

Katherine nods up and down, pondering before she takes the session in a different direction. “Having something to hold onto is instrumental in the healing process. Do you have somebody significant in your life, James? Somebody who's been with you through thick and thin?”

He doesn't hesitate when he says yes.

  
##

 

Steve’s t-shirt is drenched when he walks through the door, back from his jog. He runs a hand through his blond tresses, drinking down the rest of his water bottle.

Bucky watches the man lean in the doorframe, directing his eyes toward where he's planted in front of the t.v. with the remote tight in his grasp. “I need to head downtown to debrief. Wanna go?”

“To visit Tony Stark and his talking tower? No thanks.” He tries to make it teasing. Steve has a tendency to worry when Bucky isolates himself for an entire day.

He's not prepared to tell Steve it's difficult to be around too many people at once, not yet.

Thankfully, the other man’s lip ticks up instead of down. “Yeah, JARVIS is a lot to take in at first. It took me a year to get used to the voice in the walls.”

Bucky nods. Steve’s so damned close to leaving it the way it is, but because it's him, he doesn't.

“You sure, though?”

Bucky likes Steve’s teammates, he does. It's an added plus that he's gotten used to Barton and Wilson. But with the others there too, all at once—it's too much to take in. They're patient and kind but they're overwhelming and they don't always understand.

Bucky tries to smile, knows it doesn't work when Steve tries to disguise a wince. “Yeah, I’m sure. Think I'll just catch up on Jimmy Kimmel.”

It's painfully obvious that Steve doesn't buy it, but he doesn't push the issue. “I'll probably be back by dinner, but if it not, there's leftover takeout in the bottom of the fridge, and you know where the phone is if—”

Bucky interrupts him with a transcendent eye roll. “I'm not a toddler, Steve. I think I can handle taking care of myself for one day without burning the place down.”

Steve frowns. “I didn't mean it like that.”

Bucky shrugs indifferently. “Go spend time your dysfunctional hero team and I'll try not to get myself killed while you're gone.”

“Buck, that's not—”

“If I don't joke about myself, nobody will, don't you think? It doesn't have to be some tragic bullshit all the time.”

“Yeah,” Steve utters. Bucky can tell he's leaving a dent in the doorframe. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Just go, Steve,” Bucky insists. “Before I have to kick you out.”

The instant he hears the bike pull into the street, he drops the remote and slips on his jacket. Time to try the block on his own again.

 

##

 

“Y’know you don't have to pretend everything’s okay all the time,” Steve tells him when they're eating oatmeal in the kitchen. “If you experience discomfort or something makes you uneasy, it's okay to tell me—or your therapist. You don't have to keep it inside.”

Bucky throws his own words back at him, but there's no bite to it. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“I'm with you till the end of the line.”

Bucky snorts, pushing into Steve’s shoulder without thinking like it's purely muscle memory. “Where'd you get that from, some tacky phrase book?” he utters, but deep down, he knows where it came from.

Steve’s face widens in a smile before he pushes Bucky back. “If you can believe it, I'm lookin’ the originator directly in the eye.”

 

##

 

It takes a while for him to express personal wants or desires—he'd been used to saying yes or no in an even tone so he didn't get put back under.

“Tell people what you want,” his therapist says. “Be direct.”

Steve smiles when Bucky tells him he wants blueberries instead of peaches the next day.

  
##

 

He's brushing his teeth when Steve’s tall form appears in the doorway. Bucky takes in his own appearance in the mirror, wild and tainted behind dirty, uneven tresses. He tries to look past the dead look in his eyes and the dark circles beneath them, but they're blaring.

“Would you trim it?” he utters.

“You’d trust me to do that?” Steve utters back.

Bucky lets the tension ease out of his shoulders at the man’s soft tone. “Yeah, I think I would.”

 

##

 

“You told me Steve jogs on a daily basis, yes?”

“Yeah,” Bucky tells Katherine.

He watches her write it down.

“I'd suggest you join him,” she says. She must notice his shoulders go tense, because she tacks on, “Even if it's only a day or two out of the week. It’s good for both your physical and mental health to be outside.”

He stays silent, picking at his flesh thumb with the metal one.

Katherine's poker face doesn't falter. “If left to your own devices—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky interrupts defensively. “I know. It’d be detrimental to spend too much time on my own, undo my improvement. Did the temperature go up in here? I think it's kind of warm.”

Thankfully, Katherine is good at diffusing tension.

“If there are too many people around or you find yourself panicking, I want you to take a deep breath and hold it for ten seconds before letting it out. It might sound useless, but trust me, I'm the one with the degree.”

Bucky’s face twists in a humorless grin, but he decides not to knock it until he tries it.

 

##

 

Steve is too eager to let Bucky join in.

Bucky ducks if other joggers so much as glance their direction. They seem to be able to detect the distress he's trying to hide. It's ironic. If irony is a knife in the back.

He tries Katherine’s breathing exercise when his pulse starts to throb in his temple. It must work at least a little bit, because he doesn’t throw up when they get back.

 

##

 

Bucky’s had to turn down several offers from Stark to ‘tinker with his bionic arm.’

“I _do_ know what I’m doing,” he'd insisted the tenth time. “Kind of been doing it since I was twelve. Just ask JARVIS. Ask anybody in this tower with a brain who knows how to use it. Point is, this thing is way overdue for an upgrade, tin man.”

“Back off, Tony,” Steve had uttered that day.

But Stark is persistent at best. He'd winked, lowering his voice to a dull whisper before uttering, “Did I mention he’s this uptight? Because it’s disturbingly true. Anyway, no matter popsicle #1 over there told you, I’m more than just a playboy.”

He's still turning down offers, and therefore, still avoiding the tower unless it's to train.

“Just ignore Tony,” Steve tells him between bites of tortellini. “I do. If I had a dime for every time I've had to turn down invitations to move into the tower.. well, lets just say I'd have a lot of dimes.”

They're watching some terrible made for t.v. movie because Steve felt defiant and turned down debriefing in person. The technology in the movie sparks up a discussion about Steve’s phone, which he's already managed to break.

“Barton’s been trying to teach me how to use it, but I still don't really know how the thing works.”

“I'll bet,” Bucky teases. “You were always kind of slow on the uptake with technology.”

Bucky’s heart does a backflip when Steve turns to direct a tired smile his way. “Yeah, unlike you, Buck. You kept up with all of it.”

“Still disappointed there's no hovering cars like they said there'd be.”

“Wait till you see the quinjet,” Steve utters, then, “Better yet, you should see Back to the Future.” The man bends forward in laughter. “They got it totally wrong.”

Bucky jerks his head toward Steve incredulously. “There's a movie called _Back to the Future?_ ”

Steve’s grin widens to put his teeth on full display. “Yeah. Tony sent the DVD as a joke a couple years back. Told me it was ‘100 percent , undeniably truthful to today’s world.’ I brought up time travel during debriefing and everybody looked at me like I was insane.”

Bucky thinks the sound that leaves his throat is a laugh, but it's difficult to tell. He tries not to be jealous of the way Steve talks about his team like they're more than just that. “What else did I miss?”

“Jesus, Buck. You missed _toaster ovens_.”

The jealousy dissipates then and there.

 

##

 

His therapist tells him it's okay to keep to himself but not to dwell in it. Not to let it define him.

There's a break in Katherine’s poker face when he tells her he's been jogging with Steve every day.

 

##

 

Sometimes, when they're watching the illuminated t.v. in the dark, they end up close enough that their thighs touch. It's difficult to ignore the tremor that goes all the way down to his toes when Steve subconsciously traces patterns over the back of his hand.

It's a tenderness Bucky doesn't think he deserves yet selfishly indulges in every time. He thinks they used to be like this all those years back, but in tough, scratchy twin beds instead of sofas soft enough to sink into with their feet kicked up on an ottoman.

He's sure the man, increased senses or not, detects the rise in his pulse. He's kind enough not to say anything about it.

If Bucky keeps still enough, Steve’s head will hit the back of the sofa, tilting until his temple rests against Bucky’s metal shoulder. Then Steve’s dilated eyes will peak up at him behind droopy eyelashes.

It's still incredible to Bucky. This man that he could kill, that he could choke to death in his sleep, doesn't budge an inch when Bucky’s metal fingers twine themselves with Steve’s warm ones.

It usually takes the third guest on the talk show they pretend to watch for the man beside him to be drifting peacefully, and Bucky doesn't have the heart to disturb him, so he doesn't move even when he's thirsty or has to use the bathroom.

Bucky’s memories may be distorted, but he's not an idiot. This isn't the kind of thing that develops in the matter of days. It's the kind of thing they'd probably done decades ago. The kind of thing they didn't talk about then, either.

Just friends don't do this. Not even the ones that lived and died together.

He tells himself it doesn't mean anything. That Steve is too tired to understand what he's doing. Still, it’d be so damned easy to just bend down and kiss him. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat at the thought.

It's weird, he thinks. How permanent this temporary thing is beginning to feel.

 

##

 

“Do you think you've imprinted on him?”

Bucky stares at Katherine, dumbfounded. He didn't tell her how long he and Steve have truly known each other. He kind of figured she already knew. “What, like a duckling?”

The therapist grins. “I was thinking more like a person in need of somebody willing to be there no matter what. Don't deprive yourself of something that makes things better.”

Bucky ponders these words the entire drive home.

 

##

 

They don't talk about it, per usual. Steve spends a decent hour drawing in the dusty windowsill while Bucky flips through t.v. channels.

It works just fine for them.

 

##

 

Bucky’s in his bedroom when he wakes up gasping for breath, looking frantically around until his eyes adjust to the dark and he remembers where he is. He's in Steve’s apartment. Brooklyn. Not D.C. It's 2014. He's James Buchanan Barnes. It's okay.

Still, he doesn't try to go back to sleep until the birds start chirping outside. When it's bright enough, he spots the knuckle-sized hole in the drywall he doesn't remember making.

It makes a difference, he thinks. That it happened one of the only times he and Steve spent the night apart.

 

##

 

He looks somewhere behind Katherine when he tells her about it.

“I know this will probably be difficult for you,” she tells him when he's done talking. “But I want you to keep track of the relapses. Throwing up, yelling yourself awake, these traumatic kinds of things.”

Bucky does the inhaling for ten seconds exercise while she keeps going.

“More importantly, I want you to tell Steve when it happens. I want you to express your doubts to him, too.”

Bucky feels the tension he's been trying so hard to dispose of build instantly back up. “Did he put you up to this?”

Katherine isn't shaken by the intensity in Bucky’s tone, poker face intact. “It doesn't work that way, James. I only know of Steve through you.”

Bucky tears his eyes away so that his frustration is directed someplace else.

“I don't want to unload all that on him,” he says. “After everything he's done for me, I just—I don't want to be a burden.”

Katherine doesn't point out the way his voice trembles on the final word. “From what you've shared with me, a burden is the last thing he imagines you to be. He thinks of it as a blessing to have you back.”

Bucky’s pacing then, breathing too hard. “My head isn't the goddamn fill-in-the-blank section of the paper. I can't just unjumble the words to make it make sense.”

“I'm not asking that of you, James. I'm only asking that you try.”

Bucky attempts the breathing exercise again until he thinks it's working. He turns back to Katherine when his pulse returns to normal. He feels terrible for getting upset at her even if it's her job to take it. “You wouldn't tell anybody I said that, would you?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” Katherine says kindly. “I couldn't tell anybody if I wanted to.”

 

##

 

“I dreamt about being tortured yesterday,” Bucky utters. “I—” he trips, biting down on his tongue.

Steve turns the t.v. off. “It's okay, Buck. Take your time.”

Eventually, Bucky lets out a shaky breath, lets his eyes implore Steve’s understanding ones. It's boggling at times, how much this man seems to understand despite the impossibility.

“It's kind of a recurring nightmare,” he whispers. “The images in my head. It's not just at night. It's during the day, too.”

Steve's eyes and tone are both gentle when he says, “I'm glad you told me that, Bucky.”

Bucky nods, diverting his eyes.

He thinks too much time has passed when he utters, “What do you dream about?”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together, so Bucky tacks on, “I know you have them too, when you're not having difficulty sleeping. Thin walls.”

Steve’s face goes impossibly blank. “The train, usually. Watching you drop. Not being able to pull you back up on time. I—I shouldn't have left you there.”

“Dunno what you're talking ‘bout, Steve,” Bucky utters.

“When you fell from the train,” Steve reiterates. “I should've looked for you. I shouldn't have just let it happen.”

“That's bullshit, Steve. There was nothing you could've done. That drop should've killed me.”

Steve ducks his head, eyes shut tight. “It didn't.”

“You had no way of knowing that,” Bucky pushes. “Don't blame yourself for something that's not your fault, okay?”

Steve stays silent, so Bucky tries something different. “Isn't this supposed to be the other way around?” he teases. “Aren't I supposed to be the one weeping into your t-shirt?”

“Jerk,” Steve utters after a while, but he's looking at Bucky again when he does, lip ticking up.

 

##

 

Bucky’s taking a shower when he barely makes out Steve talking on the phone through the tile.

He can't tell who it is on the other line, but he can tell what they're saying.

“You have tunnel vision when it comes to him, Steve. I just want to make sure you're taking the necessary precautions.”

Steve’s response is indisputable. “I don't need to take goddamned precautions.”

Bucky’s face goes warm under the cool water dripping onto it, but he feels guilty too.

Steve should be taking precautions.

 

##

 

“I'm not innocent,” he tells the man.

“Did you see today’s paper?”

“Don't change the topic.”

Steve sighs like he does every time they get into it. “You're a prisoner of war.”

“You keep saying that like it justifies anything I've done!”

“Nobody’s innocent, Bucky,” Steve insists. “We've all done things we wish we could take back.”

“Yeah, but I’ve killed people.”

Steve blinks. “Technically, that wasn't you.”

“Tell that to Tony Stark’s parents.”

When Steve is silent, Bucky digs deeper. “I could kill _you_ , too.”

Steve’s jaw visibly tightens. “You told me that already, Bucky.”

“Did I?” he pushes. “Because you're not taking it too seriously.”

“Because I trust you,” Steve urges.

Bucky shakes his head, disbelieving. “You just don't get it, do you? I'm not this delicate thing you think I am, Steve. You don't know half of what I've done in the past decade alone.”

“I don't need to,” Steve says ineffectively.

“You didn't defend yourself.”

That infuriating thing happens. The thing where Steve’s eyebrows knit together like it's not getting through to him.

“In D.C.? When I bashed your goddamn face in, left you bruised? _You didn't defend yourself._ ”

Bucky watches the man’s tongue dart out to wet his lips. “I’d defend myself this time.”

“I just take your word for it?”

The other man is at a loss of words for once, eyes downcast like he's trying to will himself to think somewhere deep inside. “That wasn't you, Buck. In D.C.,” he says over, tone faltering. “They brainwashed you, tried to turn you into a weapon. But it didn't work. You didn't go through with it.”

“It didn't work, or I didn't go through with it?”

“Jesus, Buck. You know what I'm trying to say. It's—”

“Don't say it's different,” Bucky grits through his teeth. “I don't need you to tell me that.”

Steve’s face is blank when Bucky turns back to him. “Then I won't.”

He doesn't know why it's so difficult to breath when it wasn't the last time they yelled at each other. It feels terrible to yell at the most important person in his life.

“Bucky?”

“I'm not who you think I am, Steve.”

“You're a person, Buck. You deserve to be here just like anybody else.”

“Yeah, okay. But I'm not _that_ person.” _I’m_ _not_ _your_ _best_ _friend_ _who_ _died_ , he thinks.

“I know,” Steve says, tone deliberately low like Bucky’s a kicked dog backed into a corner. “But you're trying. That's all I can ask you to do. You told me you recognized me on the bridge. That's progress. That's something nobody can take from you.”

Bucky takes in every individual word, wants desperately to believe them without a doubt.

“Promise me you'll defend yourself if I try to hurt you.” The demand is tight around the knot in his throat.

“I promise,” Steve says immediately. “But I don't think you will.”

“What do you think I'll do?”

“I think you don't know,” Steve bites out.

Bucky’s eyes must widen more than he thinks, because Steve is profusely apologizing. “I didn't mean that, Buck. I'm just tired.”

Bucky nods. “I think I wanna go out for a while.”

“I'll get my jacket.”

“Just, by myself.” Bucky ducks his head so he doesn't look into Steve’s eyes and take it back.

“But you'll be back?” Steve’s voice is calm on the surface, impartial. Underneath, it's terrified. He's still that kid from Brooklyn deep down.

Bucky utters _yeah_ before slipping through the door just to ensure Steve doesn't tear apart the universe trying to find him again.

 

##

 

They don't talk about it, like usual.

Unlike usual, they ignore each other for twelve hours.

 

##

 

He takes himself to therapy for the first time.

“I think I brought up the wrong thing.” Bucky groans, knocking his head on Katherine’s desk.

She doesn't tell him off like he expects her to, but she doesn't treat him with any kind of pity either.

“I can't tell you how to deal with everything, James.”

 

##

 

“You could talk to your teammates,” Bucky utters when Steve tells him he's tired of the silent treatment.

“They don't understand what I'm trying to do.”

“Yeah? What  _are_ you trying to do?”

The intensity in Steve’s declaration makes Bucky shiver. “I'm trying to protect what matters.”

 

##

 

It's been ten weeks when he discovers Steve’s sketchbook facing down on the kitchen table.

The telltale sign of the faucet in the bathroom is the only thing that lets him flip it open to the first page.

He's taken aback. It's a detailed portrait done in pencil. It's him.

He jumps at the sound of a throat clearing behind him. He turns in time to see Steve leaning in the doorway, towel hanging low on his hips. Bucky’s eyes trail down for the tiniest moment before he's looking back up, the blush in his cheeks betraying him.

“You drew me back then, too,” he utters.

“Yeah,” Steve says, that particular smile forming in his eyes when Bucky gets a piece of his memory back. “Yeah, I did. You teased me about it because—”

“Because I wasn't supposed to want you to draw me,” Bucky interjects.

He watches the other man bite down on his lip with enough pressure to break the delicate skin.

He keeps turning the pages to see that the other sketches are of him, too. There's the occasional tree or landscape, but it's mostly him. Him doing ordinary things. Knocked out on the sofa. Watching t.v.

“You don't get tired of drawing the same thing?”

“Impossible when that thing is you,” Steve utters, blushing and ducking his head like the dork he is.

He disappears from the doorway before Bucky has the opportunity to tease him.

 

##

 

Ever since the talk with his therapist and then Steve that same day, he dreams less about being torn apart and more about the man’s intoxicating smile and dumb 21st century jokes.

It turns into something different before he has time to process it. There are images in his mind of his lips against the man’s throat, hands laying delicately at his torso. They're inside a tent. By the time he wakes up, he isn't sure if it's a memory or a desire.

_Tell him what you want._

Yeah. Sure.

 

##

 

“I don't know what's happening,” he tells Katherine.

The therapist tilts her head at him. “You're taking control over yourself.”

 

##

 

They're watching t.v. when Bucky tries something different. It's simple, daring for them. He drops his flesh hand over Steve’s jean-clad knee, takes it back and does it again. Testing. Steve just leans more of his weight into Bucky’s side.

It's tranquil and okay until Bucky jerks back at Steve unexpectedly placing a hand on his thigh.

Steve takes it back immediately, face drained of color. “I’m sorry, Buck. Did I do something wro—”

“It wasn't you,” Bucky says. “I just didn't see that coming. It was an overreaction.”

He kicks himself internally for thinking Steve could let it go. The man’s deep breath is visible.

“I'm sorry,” he reiterates. “I know you told me not to touch you before, I—”

Bucky huffs impatiently. He thought he was the dense one. “It's okay if touch me,” he says, lets his face twist in a smile.

“I'll keep that in mind,” Steve utters, smiling back but not quite settling down.

Bucky’s heartbeat throbs in his eardrums.

They were taught that doing this kind of thing was wrong. But that's definitely bullshit, Bucky thinks. There's nothing even possibly wrong about this.

 

##

 

They're in the park when Bucky lets the inquiry drop.

“Were we together? In the ‘40s.”

Steve’s eyes brighten that way they do when Bucky talks without being spoken to first. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of it. “Yeah, all the time. Inseparable.”

Bucky’s heart drops, because Steve misunderstood but for a moment, just a moment, Bucky thought he didn't.

He gets his breathing to slow down long enough to utter, “That's not what I meant.”

The realization of what Bucky is truly asking seems to dawn upon the other man like a freight train. He takes Bucky’s elbow, guiding him to an isolated area disguised by trees.

Bucky watches him inhale, keeping it in too long before letting out a deep sigh. “No, we weren't Buck. We were just friends. Best friends.”

Bucky isn't sure why it's so difficult to get the words out. He and Steve have been talking without issue for weeks, but this is different. Private. Intimate. “But we wanted to be together.”

“Yeah.” Steve is close enough that Bucky sees the thick vein pulsing in his neck. “Yeah, we did.”

“Then why weren't we?”

Bucky can tell Steve is trying to find the words when his tongue darts out. “It was illegal. I just.. it was illegal. Both of us could've been discharged.”

“That's why we didn't go through with it?” Bucky presses.

“I—I don't know.” Steve diverts his eyes when he says it.

“You're a terrible liar, Steve.”

“Yeah,” the man sighs. “You're not the first person to tell me that, Buck.”

There's at least a yard of distance between them when they begin the trek back to the apartment.

The silence is deafening.

 

##

 

They're inside when Bucky tries a different technique. Directness. “Tell me the truth, Steve.”

Steve doesn't hesitate when he says, “I’m just glad you came back.”

 

##

 

“I know what you're gonna tell me, you can't solve all my problems, life is difficult by design, all that. But I think I inserted myself too much this time.”

Katherine's expression is indifferent at best. “What makes you say that?”

“I dunno,” Bucky utters. “He deflected the question, I think. Then he threw a bunch of technical bullshit at me instead of telling me his actual thoughts.”

Katherine ponders this, finger twitching like she'll grab the pen at the edge of the desk. “I think you should give him the same time he gave you to figure things out. You've got your defense mechanisms. Perhaps deflecting is his.”

Bucky disagrees, but he doesn't say it out loud.

Katherine tilts her head at him. “I'll write the office number down, just in case there's something urgent you want to discuss that can't wait.”

“Isn't it kind of weird to text your therapist?”

“It's only weird if you think about it too much, James.”

 

##

 

Bucky decides to ditch jogging with Steve today, instead spending the time looking up terms on the internet. There's denial at the top of a page, which he knows about. Then there's a bunch of other ones below he had no idea about.

He doesn't have time to get too in depth when Steve pushes through the door. Bucky deletes the browser history and plasters on his there’s-nothing-wrong persona in time to face the other man.

“Listen, Buck, I've been thinking. About the other day—”

“Don't, Steve,” he interjects. “It's okay.”

“It's not okay,” the other man presses, irises darker than usual. “I should've given you a direct answer instead of what I told you.”

Bucky gives up pretending to watch the t.v. “Yeah.”

Steve’s voice is pleading, desperate when he sits on the ottoman to be directly in Bucky’s view. “Bucky, would you look at me, please?"

Steve’s posture relaxes when he does. “Do you still want to know why we weren't together?”

He takes Bucky’s silence as a yes, taking a deep breath. “We weren't together because everything I had that I ever gave a damn about was taken from me, except you.”

It's Bucky’s eyebrows that knit together for once. “Taken?”

Steve nods, slowly up and down as if he's trying to process it too. “My parents died when I was a teenager. Before I joined the war, everything I wanted to be or do died too. I didn't want you to be one of those things just because the temptation was too much. You know what they did to men and women back then who were.. different.”

They both wince at the term, but Steve keeps talking. “It didn't matter how we were together to me back then, just that we were together.”

“It mattered to me,” Bucky utters.

“It did?”

Bucky scoffs. “You really are an idiot, Steve.”

Steve sits back quick enough to make him dizzy. “It's just that you went out with dames all the time, so I thought—”

“Yeah, I went out with dames. But there's an important difference between that and this.” Bucky takes a deep breath, letting it drop. “I wasn't in love with any of them.”

Steve’s thumb brushes over his face, tracing a pattern down his jaw. “Bucky.. jesus. I didn't know.”

“It's different now though, isn't it? They don't punish you for desiring who you desire.”

Steve’s lip ticks up. “They don't.”

The kiss is fervent. There's decades of desperation and hidden feelings behind it, yet the other man is careful, like he's holding something breakable between his palms.

Bucky lets his eyes shut tight, leaning into it.

They're breathless when they pull back, but Steve is smiling so wide it looks painful. “I've wanted to do that since the day I met you.”

Bucky snorts, because only Steve is this dramatic. It doesn't stop him from uttering _me too_ before kissing him again, and then over and over until it’s dark outside and it's time for them to watch their damn infomercials.

 

##

 

They ditch the sofa and start sleeping in the same bed in June. Steve still hogs the blanket and tucks his freezing toes between Bucky’s thighs like he did back in ‘41.

Bucky doesn't think about taking off or turning himself in or being anywhere where they're not together.

 

##

 

It turns into a kind of inside joke, asking the pointless question before they go jogging or head up to the tower. “Tell me the truth, Steve.”

Steve will just smile, cupping his jaw to kiss him before uttering, “I'm yours, Buck. That's the truth.”

  
##

 

“You've always been thick headed,” Bucky murmurs in the dark.

“I've always had something to defend,” Steve reasons idly.

“You sure I'm worth defending?” Bucky teases. “Don't hold back. I can take what I dish out.”

He feels the man's lips brush the base of his throat. “Yes.”

 

##

 

The dreams become infrequent, only occurring now and then. This time, Steve is there to bring him back down. _I’m_ _there_ , he’ll utter in the dark, pushing Bucky’s damp tresses back and holding him tight until the tremors die.

 _I’m_ _there_ , _I’m_ _there_ , _I’m_ _there_.

  
##

 

“That thing you told me,” he says during therapy. “You weren't wrong.”

The therapist tries and fails not to let a laugh slip through. “I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me yet, James.”

“Thank you, Katherine.”

“I'm only doing my job.”

Bucky sighs, toying with his thumbs under the desk. “Yeah, but you know what I mean.”

The woman tilts her head briefly, jotting something down in that precious pad. “Yes. I do.”

 

##

 

“I'm glad I came back, too,” Bucky utters at the tail end of July. He knows it's tacky, but he finds it difficult to give a shit. They'll be tacky together.

They're in front of the t.v. eating takeout from down the street. It's nothing out of the ordinary.

Instead of teasing, Steve just smiles, turning to look at him and lifting his knuckle to brush Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky thinks he wants it to be like this all the time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking this out!


End file.
